Bloom Smith rolled over in her bed, beads of sweat trickling down her face. She whined, and rolled over again. It was very hot. Mummy said that it was because the air conditioner was broken, but Bloom could see the look of incredulity in mummy’s eyes. It wasn’t summer anymore, there weren’t supposed to be anymore heatwaves. She was sleeping just fine in the other room, so, clearly she wasn’t enduring the heat wave.
The heat was scorching; it was almost unbearable. Bloom had kicked off her covers a while ago but she still felt like she was sleeping in a desert. She clutched her teddy closer to her small frame as she hopped out of her bed and padded over to the closed window with determination in her eyes. Her mother was an old woman (she was a full twenty five years old), and always insisted on keeping the windows closed at night to keep the heat in. Bloom hated that, she loved the cool air against her face. The other children in her class called her weird for it, but she just stuck her tongue out at them. The only person close to her age who agreed with her was her friend Melody, and even then she was still a teenager and Zoe had told her that she had moved back in with her parents.
Bloom reached the window. She grunted as she stretched to reach for the handle to open it, but she was too short. She didn’t let that stop her. She dropped her teddy on the floor and hoisted herself up onto the window sill. She reached for the handle again and this time pushed the window open, smiling victoriously as the cool air made contact with her flushed skin, a soothing release from the sweltering desert behind her.
It was a cool evening in Foxgrove. People slept peacefully in their houses, silently mourning the end of their summer holidays and mulling over the fact that they would have to begrudgingly return to school and work by the end of next week, ‘nursing hangovers and bleary eyes’, her cousin Finn had said, even though she never really understood the meaning.
Bloom observed the street quietly. It was completely silent. Mummy always told Bloom never to go outside by herself at night time because that was when the monsters came out. It inspired Bloom to always keep a lookout.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a shadow, and she peered out of her second storey window curiously to see a teenager stomping down the streets with headphones in her ears, glaring at her phone irately. She looked very angry. Bloom could see that by the way she was swiping her thumb along the bright screen. Then suddenly, she stopped and slumped to the ground.
That was when Bloom saw the person with the metal dish face. Panic and curiosity churned inside her stomach, tugging her into two separate directions. Eventually, the dish-faced figure moved away from the motionless body, craned its head upwards and stared directly at her. Bloom panicked, slammed the window shut and ran back to her bed, ignoring the blazing heat as she tugged the duvet over her head. The monster couldn’t get her if she was in her bed, that’s what mummy always told her.
Mummy was wrong.
Bloom felt a tapping through the bedding she was hiding under, and poked her head out. Her eyes widened in terror as a hand crept towards her and clamped around her mouth. She couldn’t find it in herself to scream. The heat was becoming painful, more excruciating. A rash broke out on her skin and it started to burn.
And then five-year-old Bloom Smith was gone. The teddy lay on the ground, forgotten, having seen everything through its hollow eyes, the stitched smile seared off its face.
The heat was scorching; it was almost unbearable. Bloom had kicked off her covers a while ago but she still felt like she was sleeping in a desert. She clutched her teddy closer to her small frame as she hopped out of her bed and padded over to the closed window with determination in her eyes. Her mother was an old woman (she was a full twenty five years old), and always insisted on keeping the windows closed at night to keep the heat in. Bloom hated that, she loved the cool air against her face. The other children in her class called her weird for it, but she just stuck her tongue out at them. The only person close to her age who agreed with her was her friend Melody, and even then she was still a teenager and Zoe had told her that she had moved back in with her parents.
Bloom reached the window. She grunted as she stretched to reach for the handle to open it, but she was too short. She didn’t let that stop her. She dropped her teddy on the floor and hoisted herself up onto the window sill. She reached for the handle again and this time pushed the window open, smiling victoriously as the cool air made contact with her flushed skin, a soothing release from the sweltering desert behind her.
It was a cool evening in Foxgrove. People slept peacefully in their houses, silently mourning the end of their summer holidays and mulling over the fact that they would have to begrudgingly return to school and work by the end of next week, ‘nursing hangovers and bleary eyes’, her cousin Finn had said, even though she never really understood the meaning.
Bloom observed the street quietly. It was completely silent. Mummy always told Bloom never to go outside by herself at night time because that was when the monsters came out. It inspired Bloom to always keep a lookout.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a shadow, and she peered out of her second storey window curiously to see a teenager stomping down the streets with headphones in her ears, glaring at her phone irately. She looked very angry. Bloom could see that by the way she was swiping her thumb along the bright screen. Then suddenly, she stopped and slumped to the ground.
That was when Bloom saw the person with the metal dish face. Panic and curiosity churned inside her stomach, tugging her into two separate directions. Eventually, the dish-faced figure moved away from the motionless body, craned its head upwards and stared directly at her. Bloom panicked, slammed the window shut and ran back to her bed, ignoring the blazing heat as she tugged the duvet over her head. The monster couldn’t get her if she was in her bed, that’s what mummy always told her.
Mummy was wrong.
Bloom felt a tapping through the bedding she was hiding under, and poked her head out. Her eyes widened in terror as a hand crept towards her and clamped around her mouth. She couldn’t find it in herself to scream. The heat was becoming painful, more excruciating. A rash broke out on her skin and it started to burn.
And then five-year-old Bloom Smith was gone. The teddy lay on the ground, forgotten, having seen everything through its hollow eyes, the stitched smile seared off its face.